


Summer's End

by maliciousfisheeves



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 16:26:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6431707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maliciousfisheeves/pseuds/maliciousfisheeves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ciaran has been on the force for a number of years, and generally life has been calm, but she begins to pull back the decades to finally put an end to a long since unsolved case; the disappearance of Arthur A. Walker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer's End

          Ciaran sighed heavily. This wasn’t what she was supposed to be doing. She was supposed to be doing paperwork or something, but no. She was digging through old files, for a specific file.

 

_Name: Arthur A. Walker._

_Height: 6’1_

_Weight: 164 lbs_

_Last seen: December 2, 1989._

 

          There was more information, various pictures and what not. School photos, grainy and old. Some of it was stained and dusty or torn. There were a few ‘newer’ bits and piece, but it was all vague, all _useless_.

          Why was she doing this? Why was she looking back at this? She had other things to do-- well, not really, but she could have been doing a thousand things better than _this_.

          She felt like an idiot walking into the office. Ornstein looked up from his paperwork, raising an eyebrow.

          His office was cluttered with paperwork. The wooden desk had a few samples of a simpler time however. Framed photos, an old lacrosse trophy, some more unframed photos, and his diploma of course. There was a rhythm to the clutter though that made it look orderly, as everything had its place in Ornstein’s mind.

          At the front of his desk read a silver plated name; _Leon S. Hunter._

 

          “I want to reopen this case-file.” she said strongly, slapping down the old folder.

 

 “You know you can't just ask that, right?”

 

          “Just read the damn file Leon.”

 

          Ornstein flipped it around in his hands. His eyes flickered with light as he read the name.

 

          “Ciaran, please. We shouldn’t go digging back into the past.” he sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes.

 

          Ciaran huffed, “This has been nagging us all for years. Let’s just give it one more shot, alright? If we don’t find anything we can just quit.”

 

          Ornstein looked up at her, folding his hands and resting his chin on them.

 

          “Fine, I’ll ask the chief inspector, you’re going to have to tell Gough.” he sighed, pulling out paper to file for a request.

 

           Ciaran left the office, feeling still like an idiot. Every part of her was telling to just let it go. But she couldn’t.

 

        “Carrie! You’re actually here!” the secretary’s voice loudly crashed into her thoughts.

 

        Ciaran jumped a bit, turning with a shy smile, “Oh, well hello Mrs. Lin.”

 

        Mrs. Lin proceeded to talk to her for about five minutes straight, something about her grandchildren. Ciaran didn’t not like Mrs. Lin, but she had to go. Mrs. Lin was… scarily perceptive, however; or perhaps it showed on her face, the way the corners of her lips turned into a frown and her eyebrows knit.

 

        “Is something bothering you dear?” her voice came out softly.

 

        “Do you remember, uh, Arthur?” She said, thinking for a moment, considering the name in her mouth. It felt strange, just slightly off, to utter his name aloud once again.

 

        Mrs. Lin’s face dropped, nodding sadly, “don’t’ let me blabber on dearie.”

 

        Ciaran thanked the old woman quietly and left, briskly walking towards the door.

        She felt the early fall air hit her face; it was exactly like it was so many years ago. Not too hot, not too cold. Some children were spending their last few days of vacation enjoying the still warm water in the creek.

 

        The creek. She remembered the day he dared Gough on a whim to grab one of the crayfish from the rocks, and Ciaran laughed at him when Gough squeaked. Then Gough threw the crustacean at her and she shrieked.

She smiled for a second.

 

 

          “Good afternoon officer!” A kid said in a sudden rush as they biked by. It always surprised her when the kids greeted her; when she was in school, she and her friends avoided cops like the plague.

 

          She walked for a while, past the mayor's office. She'd have to go further into town to get to Gough, but she wanted to reminisce for a moment, to recall old memories to, perhaps, better help with the case. She'd have to remember things from decades ago to even start the investigation. She wasn't entirely sure she wanted to reminisce, but staring at the gold plated names on the board outside the mayor's office she nearly laughed.

          Mayor Gwyn. What a weird thought. It didn't seem that long ago he was instructing Ciaran and the other three how and where to whack some punks upside the head, when to send a message. He'd always been a leader, but it was odd to think he'd led a gang. Even more so for _her_ to be in that gang.

          Now, he was mayor and she was an officer.

       

          Was that irony? She couldn't remember. She remembered on the way to ‘raid’ on the nest of their earliest rivals, _he_ and Ornstein had a debate about whether or not it was ironic the 'Dragons' base was a gas station.

          She continued walking towards the stores, down the boulevard where all the local shops were, hoping Gough was working today. She turned the corner and looked into the window.

 

_George's Wood Craft Shop_

 

 _Eugh_. Reading Gough’s name even internally felt wrong. _George_ sounded stupid.

 

          She gathered her courage and stepped inside. Stacked along the walls were a bazillion individual tiny wood crafts. They were all different, with their own little individual flavors.

It was a small shop, big enough for maybe twenty people to pack together, but normally only four or five people were inside on most days, as Gough had said from their brief chats.

She looked around, catching wary glances from the single patron. They bought their tiny figurine and shuffled out the door. Perhaps there were still those who were wary of cops, either that or it was someone who remembered _her_.

 

          “Gough, mind if we talk?” she asked, leaning over the counter.

 

          Gough raised an eyebrow, “about what? Did I break the law?”

 

          “No, this concerns a case file that might be opened up. Ornstein and I-” she felt herself starting to tumble over words, feeling anxiety build in her chest.

She shouldn't be putting this back on Gough; He’d been there that night, and though he didn’t know what happened, she _knew_ it wracked away at him for so long that maybe he could have done something.

 

          “Ciaran.” Gough offered gently.

 

          She took a deep breath in, “I'm reopening Artorias’s case file.”

          Gough raised a brow, tapping his chin. “You know I'm permanently off duty, right?”

          “Yes I know, because of the incident with your eyes and that lunatic, but please. You were the best detective we had while you were with us. Ornstein and I can't do this on our own, and I know this has been hard and that you probably want nothing to do with us anymore-” Ciaran felt her heart racing.

          “I'll help.” Gough said quietly, rising from the counter, his head nearly hitting the ceiling.

          “Thank you.” she replied. Gough gave her a small smile.

 

          It was strange to have all three of them back in the office. Not uncomfortable or tense, but it'd been so long since Ciaran could see both Ornstein _and_ Gough.

Currently they were going through papers, except Ornstein. He was going through documents on the computer, though it took a few minutes of digging to find the right files.

 

          “You would think they'd have filed the missing person’s reports better.”

 

          “Ornstein, if you recall, there were half a million gangs back then and only a handful for people ever got in trouble. Do you really think they cared about some punk kid?” Ciaran scoffed.

 

          “No, but even so. I know we… cared…” he mumbled.

 

          They filed through in silence after that for a while, until they finally gathered as much information as they could.

          The case file had grown by a few slips of paper, and they’d managed to reorganize it. They'd still have to go out and do some more questioning, but a sinking feeling began to shackle around her ankles.

          Ciaran had come to the conclusion they'd have to go the last man to see him. There was so little information, but they knew that Marius G. Regen (whoever the hell _that_ was) was _not_ the last person to see him; not really. They knew all too well who had really seen him the night before.

 

          “We're going to have to go to Gwyn.” She muttered.

 

          “That opens a can of worms. If we plan on finding him or whoever did what to him, we have to use the law, and we can't exactly explain in our case report how we know that Gwyn was the last person to speak to him without revealing half the people on the force were a part of a gang.” Ornstein explained, shaking his head.

          Ciaran sighed heavily, running her fingers through her hair. “This was a bad idea. I'm such an idiot, I'm sorry I dragged you guys into weeks of work for nothing.” She muttered, sighing heavily.

 

          “Let’s not focus on that. We're going to focus on finding him, alive or dead, and _then_ we can work on somehow getting around that later.” Gough stated, nodding at the both of them.

          Ciaran and Ornstein nodded back.

 

          It was early winter when they were finally able to get into the Mayor's office.

          The checkered marble floor reflected them, gold molded white pillars held up the domed roof, where a skylight let in the sun's rays. The Secretary waved them off, leaning their hand on their chin with glazed eyes, barely registering who they were probably.

          Walking up the stairs, she felt anxious. It had been years since that time had been discussed. Any news about _that_ getting the public would ruin him after all. So everyone kept their mouths shut about being in gang when they were stupid and fifteen (except Gwyn, who’d been an upperclassmen, along with two other schmucks)

          Gwyn sat at the opposite end of the room, hands tented together.

 

          “Ah, what can I do for my four—three knights?” He said, light fading from his eyes briefly.

He certainly _looked_ like a mayor. Short greying beard, combed hair, pressed suit. He looked like a completely different man from the person who’d invited her into a gang; Grey aviator, dark jeans and a hat that reminded her of a crown the way he wore it so constantly despite it being against school policy. He didn’t have an attitude but he had a strong sense of leadership and commanded a lot of respect, he still did.

 

          “We’re reopening Arthur’s case. We know you were the last to see him.” Ornstein answered immediately, forwardly.

 

          Gwyn raised an eyebrow, “You know I won’t be the only one to be dragged down if you reveal _our_ past, correct?”

 

          “We’re not concerned with that right now, we can deal with cover-ups later. We just want to know where he went last, what happened to him.” Ornstein said, leaning over the desk.

 

 

          “Cover-ups hm? Well, yes, fine. Allow me to think for a moment. It’s been a while.” He put his hands together, wringing them for moment and looking away.

 

          His eyes flickered with thought, like they always did, but Ciaran could never tell what he was planning, and for a moment remembered why she’d followed him so many years ago.

          Gwyn stroked his beard for a moment, thinking some more, “I don’t want to be too wrapped up this, but I will tell you what happened that night.” He finally said, looking distantly at the wall. He seemed to turn pale.

 

Artorias met Gwyn behind the gas station. It was freezing cold, but he endured for Gwyn’s sake.

        Sif paced around anxiously, finally sitting and whimpering at him. Artorias scratched him behind the ears and under his collar, mumbling to him.

        Gwyn arrived late into the day, right before sunset.

 

        “I need you to go to Ollie and take care of the Wraiths, you got it?” Gwyn commanded.

 

        “Gwyn, I get it, but this times seems more dangerous. Shouldn’t I get some help or somethin’? With their leader n’ what not…” he trailed off as Gwyn’s glare became more intense.

        “Yeah, yeah okay. I gotcha. Just uh, uh tell Ciaran and the others to save my seat for the senior lunch, okay?” he said, running his hand over the back of his neck.

 

 

        “And then he left, simple as that.” Gwyn said, unfolding his hands.

 

        “You sent him alone?” Gough asked incredulously.

 

        Gwyn huffed, “Of course I did! You three were all busy elsewhere, and I couldn’t afford to send anyone else out of with him. I was dumb and twenty, sue me!” He snarled, slamming a fist on the table, standing up.

 

        “You could have told the police where he went-- something!” Ciaran hissed, sticking a finger at him.

 

        “And get us all arrested? No. Artorias knew the risk he took when he joined, you all did, and so did I. And now you all have jobs, and he’s gone. It was bound to happen at some point.” He explained, looking at the wall again.

 

        “You said Ollie, the place that flooded, right?” Gough asked, coming forward. His eyes, cloudy and blue, darkened like a storm, flickering with lightning

 

        Gwyn looked at him, furrowing his eyebrows, “Yes.”

 

        “Then we’ll start there. Good day, _sir_.” Gough said with a bite in his voice, then turned around, starting to walk out, Ciaran and Ornstein followed suit.

 

          Ciaran thought for a moment. ‘Ollie’ referred to one of the smaller sections of town, south of the main creek. It was kept dry by a dam, at least it _was_. She’d been there a few times before the flood, but the place creeped her out, even before the Wraiths got involved.

 

        They walked in silence towards Ollie. She remembered hearing an explosion go off and the dam broke. No one ever found out who did it or what happened, but there’d been so much water damage and so few people that actually lived there no one bothered to repair it, at least not for a very, very long time. Only recently did they thrown some rocks and mud together to stop the water, but only because it was starting to eat away at the road.

        It was very apparent when they entered the town. Moss grew everywhere. The smell of fish and decaying plants was enough to make most people gag.

        Cold wind blew down the empty street. Dilapidated houses fell to nearly the same side, but a few houses still stood; there were holes in the roofs and the unsteady walls weren’t trustworthy. They were so waterlogged it was hardly believable they stood at all.

 

        “You know, this was creepy back then too.” Ornstein said, keeping a hand near his gun, eyes wandering for a moment.

 

        Gough nodded– he wasn’t wrong; Ollie had the oldest property on the skirts of town, home to a few old teachers and professors and the like. The houses weren’t creepy themselves, but they looked so strange. The style was completely different, and the paint was chipping off them. Some of the houses even had mushrooms growing off them. A rival gang made itself home there, but they weren’t really a problem, not for a while.

          She remembered when she went there to save Dusk, the mayor’s daughter and ally of Gwyn. She’d thought herself successful that day, until she found out Artorias had gone missing and Gough had been blinded by an some ass with a bone to pick. It was only her and Ornstein at the graduation lunch.

          As she walked down the lonely, long street, she recalled what happened after his disappearance. Everything was different, like someone had taken a carefully placed swatch out of a quilt. After that, suddenly Ciaran’s scholarships didn’t seem so appealing. She went to the police academy afterwards, along with Ornstein. Ornstein could have become a star lacrosse player, but he explained that, _“I can’t leave this place with a sound mind. Lordran is my home.”_

          Gough went his own way for a while, but they kept up. He’d been a detective for a while, but that ‘requires having functional eyes’, and though he had a keen mind and excellent processing skills, he couldn’t keep up. Ciaran thought it was bullshit, but Gough didn’t mind. He simply turned back to making crafts. He didn't leave either.

          It wasn’t like Artorias was the cornerstone of their lives, and yet when he left everything seemed to go to shit. Maybe it was the circumstances; They were all ready, they all wanted so badly to run off to college and leave this place behind. Artorias brought a certain lightness to it, made the weight of years of violence pull away, made the future look bright for them, that they could escape this hole they dug themselves into. When he disappeared, that seemed to fall apart.

 

          “What about the scars?” they'd say, discouraged and afraid. What job would take such obvious trouble-makers?

_“They won't mind, just tell em’ it's from lacrosse.”_

_“Don't sweat it. You're an amazing photographer Gough, they'd be happy to have you.”_

_“No worries. You'll be alright, you're nearly the head of the class, who'd turn you down just because of a few scars?”_

 

          But then he was gone. Then they looked themself over, and the broken nose became much less appealing, the scars more apparent.

 

          Sure, it could be explained away that you got nailed in the head with a ball, but what about the slice across his cheek? The big ugly burn on his leg?

Who'd employ the big scary guy, with little scars all over his arms? With clouded pupils and discolored flesh around his eyes? The bruises that never healed right burned like spotlights on him.

Academic excellence paired with the scar over the lip did not mesh, did not match. The cut across her palms when she'd defended herself against a knife was obvious, never unobservable. 

 

          College, a job? What a lie. They'd be stuck in this town forever.

          What had he told them he wanted to be? He wanted to sing. He always sung to them, showed him his songs so excitedly.

          He'd been stuck in this town too.

 

          They stopped at the end of the culvisack and Ciaran’s guts twisted.

          There were bodies in the alleyway, covered in decaying leaves and had long since rotted; they were no more than thinly fleshed skeletons, but she could see bits of clothing, faded and tattered, hanging on loose bones. Weeds grew from between ribs, poking up and out in silence.

 

          “Oh, God.” She heard Ornstein whisper.

          Gough wrinkled his nose, silently motioning that if he didn't already know, he certainly didn't want to.

 

          They fanned out, searching desperately, but it was disgusting work. She and Ornstein rifled through moldy planks of wood, searching for anything, something. But they found nothing

 

          Ciaran plopped down, exhausted and cold. The cracked cement under her feet smelled of mold and decay, everything did. The smell of very old, very rotten bodies was noxious and caustic, but she stopped caring.

          In a fit of frustration, Ornstein kicked a pile of filth, then gasped loudly, stumbling back and nearly falling.

 

 

          “That was a _skull_.” He said softly, raising his eyebrows.

          Her heart raced, fearing the worst.

          She could see something glinting in the light, ever so barely, newly exposed to the sun. It was a pocket knife, not particularly big, but it wasn't a fish gutting knife that could have been explained away as some fisherman's lost tool.

          She bent down, hand shaking.

          She didn't want to recognize it, but she felt herself already slipping. She knew immediately, but some part of her made her examine it. Look closer, dig deeper.

          She knew the wolf in the wood, a gift from Gough, she knew the little string tied to it, faded though it was, a gift from her. She knew the blade, because the knife itself was a gift from Ornstein, to replace the knife that'd been lost in the creek that day.

          She flipped it over in her hand, running her fingers over the shoddy carving of the nickname _Arty._

 

          “What happened here?” She asked to no one.

          They needed to call the station immediately, but Ciaran couldn’t let it go, she couldn't let and set it stew any longer. She grabbed the knife and started running to the mayor’s office, leaving Gough and Ornstein far behind.

 

        Ciaran walked to Gwyn’s office alone. She slammed her fists down, her heart pounded wildly in her chest as her blood boiled.

 

        She slid the knife across the desk, “What. Happened.”

 

        Gwyn looked at it, but didn’t touch it. “Do you truly want to know? Because it’s much more terrible than you think.”

 

        “I just want to know what happened to my friend.” She said, voice dropping.

 

        Gwyn sighed, “I will tell you what he told me. Afterwards, it's up to you if you want to seek him out, but I doubt you will…”

 

        There was a slight flicker of hope within Ciaran. He’s still alive, but why did he never…

 

        “It may be best if you gather the other two as well. I cannot bear to… repeat myself. This is something I’d rather keep hidden, but not for my reputation alone.”

       

_Artorias walked through the alleyway, breathing hard. God, god his arm hurt so bad. It didn’t respond to his command to move, he tried to twitch his fingers, but even then that didn’t work. Holy shit, he needed to get out of there._

_Sif whimpered, following alongside him._

_“Yeah, yeah I know. It’ll be okay, we’ll get out. We’ll be fine.”_

 

_He heard laughter behind him, and turned suddenly. They’d cornered him._

_“Lo and behold, here’s the Walker.” Manus smiled._

 

_Sif snarled, baring his fangs. Artorias put his one good arm over him, feeling his legs shake._

 

_“Please, Manus, we’ll leave. We won’t come back, I promise, just let us go.” He said. Gwyn would have his head, the others would laugh at him, but he didn’t care. He was genuinely terrified._

 

_Manus was crazy. He’d beaten up people just for the hell of it, because they ‘wronged him’._

_The wraiths behind Manus laughed, the few that were left. “No can do.”_

 

_Artorias stepped back, eyes wide as a deep fear sprung in his chest and weighed his stomach “You’re not gonna, you wouldn’t.”_

_Manus smiled._

 

_The fight was more a beat down than actual fight. Artorias managed himself weakly, but took out Manus’s remaining lackies. Manus was kicking his ass however. He smacked him over and over again with a broken plank of wood, and slowly Artorias couldn’t keep up. Sif was trying, but he was just a puppy. Manus kicked him in the ribs and he went flying, shrieking in pain._

_Artorias fell to his knees, bloody and beaten. He couldn’t move, and the world was beginning to fade._

_But he wanted so badly to win, he had to. He was so desperate, so scared. He weakly raised his hand, reaching it into his coat pocket as Manus gloated above him, walking around in circles. More Wraiths showed up, waking up from Artorias’s earlier blows._

_He could feel it, the knife. He could feel the frayed tassels from the piece of string Ciaran had given to him, feel the carving of a wolf Gough had made. He pulled the blade out, and felt sickened. How dare he use this gift in such a way, it was never meant for this._

 

_Manus stopped gloating, staring at him for a second, before speaking “Ha, you wouldn’t dare!”_

 

_Manus started to walk away, waving for the left over Wraiths to take care of him._

 

_Artorias yelled at the top of his lungs, almost like a roar, shaking himself awake. His vision turned red, and the world seemed to blur for a moment, like everything was going faster than he could process._

 

_When the knife plunged into the young-man’s neck, Artorias didn’t quite recognise it at first. He made a gurgled cry, then dropped, grasping at his neck, but his fingers slipped on his own blood._

_Artorias turned back, ripping out the knife and snarling. He felt as savage as he looked, the way he snarled with red splattered over him. He felt utterly and totally sick, but he couldn't stop himself._

_It wasn't quite real afterwards, but he knew he killed more. He didn’t truly wake until he realized that he was covered in gore, kneeling over a body with the knife still lodged in between its eyes._

 

_It looked so cold, so lifeless, but it was still warm. Blood ran everywhere. He covered his mouth so he didn’t scream. He rolled off, laying on the ground. The world spun, he had to go to his side when he threw up. Everything smelled like blood._

_He got up, stumbling to his feet and ran into the night, away from town, until he could run no more. It was midnight when he stopped running, in the middle of a field nowhere._

 

_He started walking back. He had to go back, he had to tell Gwyn._

 

 

_Before long, they were at the dam._

 

_“This isn’t going to work. I’m going to jail, this is so fucked up.” Artorias muttered, holding his head._

 

_“No. You’re not going to jail, this is going to work.” Gwyn put a hand on his shoulder, frowning, but trying to reassure him._

 

_Gwyn and Artorias silently set up the ‘explosives’. There wasn’t really a guarantee they'd work, but after getting back a safe distance, they set them off. The dam blew wide open, despite the bombs be small and shoddily made. It was cheap and old, like a lot of things in town._

_Artorias never went home after that._

 

 

        “He stayed with me afterwards. He was so broken, he nearly clawed one of his eyes out. I should have brought him to hospital, but he begged me not to.” Gwyn sighed, turning away to face the window.

 

        Ciaran’s mind was drowning in thoughts. That couldn’t be real, and yet it made a scary amount of sense; She could hardly believe Gwyn would know to explain just exactly where the knife was and where they found it. But every part of her said that she was wrong, that Gwyn was wrong. Artorias had to be dead, that was it. Or something– he’d never murder anyone. He was too cautious, too careful. He was asshole sometimes but– but not a murderer. He was not that violent, was he? He couldn’t be. God, no. No no no no no.

 

        She could feel the disbelief in the room. Ornstein’s eyes were wide, and Gough was frozen, hands trembling at his sides.

 

        “Do you really want to know where he is? He’s still alive.” Gwyn turned only his head to address them.

 

 

        They drove for almost an hour before arriving at Gwyn’s private home. It wasn’t very big, but that was because the home Gwyn lived in was in town. Gwyn briefly explained on the way that it was where he raised his children.

        They rolled into the driveway, and a warm spring breeze rolled through. Gwyn stated he wasn’t going to go inside, but that he’d probably not be there anyway.

        As they started their walk, she could feel her heart starting to beat faster. Maybe Gwyn was just screwing with them, something. She found it harder to believe Artorias was alive with every step.

        They walked around the backside of the two-story farmhouse, light grass tickling their ankles. It was certainly a pretty place, with a manicured lawn that overlooked the hills. The house was in good condition, with a porch and a sort of quiet, peaceful disposition. It was very far out, and Ciaran got the idea that this was less a place for raising children, more so for hiding things. A place to get away.

        She could see a sort of garden, but it was more like a courtyard. She could hear a child laughing.

 

        “Dirt! Dirt!” A soft voice said, and a sort of ‘floof’ sound followed.

        “Miss Gwyndolin, please don’t throw dirt at me.” A voice replied; it was too familiar. A little deeper than what she remembered, but she couldn’t mistake it, and that made her heart skip a beat, then immediately race.

 

        She stepped, and saw an almost picturesque scene played out before her. A little kid, perhaps no more than four, messing around in the dirt as the man behind her was bent over, tending to the garden. The little girl was blind, with her eyes covered up. Something was weird with her legs as well, she seemed to be crawling still.

        The man’s skin was dark from the sun, his hair was long but drawn back, and he had lots of scars. Something was weird about the way he moved his left arm, like it was stilted. His fingers shook on his left hand.

She immediately noticed the scars on his left eye. The whites of his eyes were stained red, what was left of the rest was cloudy blue and pale. He hadn’t seemed to have noticed them yet.

 

                                “Is that really you?” Ornstein’s words fell out nearly silently.

 

        The man jumped, dropping the trowel in his left hand, but he didn’t make eye contact.

 

        “Miss Gwyndolin, are you playing tricks on me again?” He asked, trying to stop his voice from shaking, staring into the dirt as though contemplating if he should bury his head in it.

 

        The child tilted her head and turned to them, “Nuh-uh. Who are you?” She asked, squinting at Gough, who took a step back.

 

        He closed his eyes, balling up his fists. “Miss Gwyndolin, do you think you could leave us for a moment?”

 

        The child turned around, shaking her head.

        “I’ll make you your favorite lunch if you do, just please, go for a few minutes. Let the adults talk.” He replied quietly.

        The child got onto her feet, took a cane, and limped off.

 

        The man stood, dusting off his hands, “It is really me.” He answered.

 

        He turned, looking at them. He furrowed his eyebrows, and closed his mouth. They stood in silence for what felt like hours.

 

        “What did you think you’d find here?” He asked.

 

        “I don’t know.” She replied.

**Author's Note:**

> So like i had no reason for writing this, it's very dumb, but! I had fun. I don't really know if I'll ever write a lot of fanfiction, but I had this in my docs for a while and now I have an account to post it on.


End file.
